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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383926">First steps are the hardest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutesonas/pseuds/Cutesonas'>Cutesonas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>717 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen, after spiderverse, peter and johnny are exs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:02:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,235</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutesonas/pseuds/Cutesonas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’s Miles.” Peter explained, waiting patiently.<br/>	Clint scrolled some more, Miles now taking silly selfies with-<br/>	“Oh my god.” Teresa gasped, leaning in to get a closer look at the blonde. “Is that-”<br/>	“Yep.” Peter answers, eyes glossy and tired. “Gwen.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton &amp; Peter Parker, Miles Morales &amp; Peter B. Parker, Peter Parker &amp; Johnny Storm, Peter Parker &amp; Teresa Parker, Peter Parker/Johnny Storm, Teresa Parker &amp; Clint Barton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>717 [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Files</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Teresa Abigail Parker was the oldest, with three years of what she thought was infinite bliss under her belt too. Although she got older, she doesn’t really have a good frame of mind of what those three years were like, to tell you the truth she only ever remembers being the older sister. Meaning, the earliest memories she does possess are those with her baby brother, Benji. Or as many know him as, Peter Benjamin Parker. But she liked the name Benji on him better, it suited him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even when the kids in middle school used it to tease him and steal his lunch money, she still stood by it, cooing as she ruffled his hair, singing tunes she made. In highschool she still kept her strong grip on it as well, except when one day she came home to her brother stuck to the ceiling. The sight of him, in that spandex onesie of his, probably the first time she had ever uttered his first name in years. It wouldn’t be the last time, as she uttered it more and more after agreeing not telling Ben and May about every close call. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was it the Russians, Peter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who is Doc Ock, Peter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where did Kraven hurt you, Peter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter this and that, as if her precious Benji never existed in the first place, and to be honest? She isn’t exactly sure if he’s still in there, or if he was trapped inside their days of youth. Sometimes she swears though, these are these moments, these slivers of him that escaped the depths of the memories of middle school. Leaks from the cracks of her brother's stoney and apathetic persona that she can’t help but feel she encouraged, after all she was the one who decided eye bags, half done hair, and poison in her voice was in fashion. Was it his fault for using that to get through the daily beatings? She didn’t think so, but it was never perfect, because he was still a parker, and deep down all the repressed anger, stubbornness and whatever the hell else, there is this soft spot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when Peter told her about the kid he met over in whatever universe he landed in, and how one kid alone impacted him to give living a second shot, it made sense. A lot of sense, actually. So she sat there, on his couch, sipping her mocha in thought. See, she couldn’t see her brother running off for five months like that, but Miles Morales, other spider people, his blond self dying? Was too batshit but also something her brother would get his sticky self stuck in. Unfortunately though, the man sitting next to her didn’t see it the same way she did, Teresa wasn’t exactly sure the talented marksman Hawkeye had more than three brain cells bopping around in that big head of his. See, the arrow man wanted proof, which Teresa raised an eyebrow at, but he was the landlord, avenger and the one with connections to help her brother get back on his feet so she didn’t want to pick a fight. After all, the story was batshit, and it wasn’t exactly the first time Peter has experienced delusions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her brother didn’t bat an eye at that though, as he passed his busted up and cheap android phone to the two on the other side of the coffee table. It took awhile for the two to look past the cracks and some squinting as well but both were able to make out the semi blurry young black boy on it, grinning happily, seemingly on a bus, somewhere out of the city.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s Miles.” Peter explained, waiting patiently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clint scrolled some more, Miles now taking silly selfies with-</span>
</p>
<p><span>“Oh my god.” Teresa gasped, leaning in to get a closer look at the blonde. “Is that-”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Yep.” Peter answers, eyes glossy and tired. “Gwen.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>The other two sighed, feeling the phantom punch right in the gut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet Peter was still unfazed, “Is that enough proof, Hawks?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no I always believed your story.” Clint said bluntly, passing the phone back to him. “It’s just shield who doesn’t.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The mention of the organization made Peters eye twitch, and Teresa’s relaxed posture stiff up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” Peter looked at his landlord with intensity and soon to be rage. </span>
</p>
<p><span>“Peter, please.” Teresa begged, in a gentle voice. God dammit Peter, she was expecting to lay it down on him low, knowing full on and well he wouldn’t agree to the deal if she didn’t at least set it on him slowly. Guess she’ll have to work backwards now.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“You know about this?” Peter seethed, looking at his sister in disbelief. “After all the times they screwed me over?”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>His sister looked at him with growing anger as well now, “What the hell were me and Mj supposed to do? We were worried-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter laughed hysterically at his sister, “You got my ex wife into this?” his voice raising, god, she always hated when he did that. She wasn’t too keen on screaming matches, it just wasn’t how she rolled. “Oh thats fucking rich.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My god, get a grip! She was worried about you!” Teresa boiled, cracking her knuckles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously Pete, we were just worried.” Clint softly admits, feeling smaller and smaller as the parkers had their dispute basically right in the middle of him. “I get that you want nothing to do with shield, I really do but tell me, who are you gonna go to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter froze at that, almost a bit offended that Barton would even ask that, but his lips remained nameless, exactly proving the archers point. Thus making his sister's heart swell a bit in guilt, knowing at this point her brother is basically wrapped around her works little finger, just waiting for a moment of vulnerability to strike. It’s not like she exactly intended this to happen, it was just once when they were young adults that someone caught a glimpse of him unmasked. And then it turned into another spill to be cleaned up, and another, and another, and all warranting their own personal favors for Peter to do in return, each much more daunting than the last. It was a dual sided sword, and each time she watched as he proceeded to impale himself with it. And right now, it was as if looking at him reaching out for the handle despite being bloody and alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m assuming you guys have the file on you.” Teresa’s brother sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I....actually wasn’t allowed to even look at it.” she admits, voice somber and staring at her mocha cup from starbucks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I was able to snag it, no need to thank me.” Clint grins, reaching from his worn purple bag, pulling out a grey, thick and heavy folder. Dropping on the coffee table with a thor almighty thud, making the parking siblings worry in case the ikea made table would break in half due to impact. “Read it and weep, because I can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The arachnid scratched the top of his head, looking at the folder with pain, groaning. “Please tell me half the papers in there are pictures of dogs.”  Peter begged, not even wanting to lay one finger on that bad boy, for he was convinced it was probably laced with some peterphobic toxin that would make him die immediately on impact. Wait, that doesn’t sound too bad actually, so he flipped it open, revealing the first page. Which was not a cute puppy, but instead a very long paragraph of words. This did in fact, kill Peter, leaving him to be a cranky zombie who only talked in groans and whines.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there at least one dog picture in here?” he begged, beginning to feel frail and old, like his grandmother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clint shook his head, arms crossed. “Wait actually, yeah.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This immediately made him light up in reaction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dogs uh, dead though.” Clint corrected, making the poor man fall back into his withering old woman form. “The bastard they want you to catch ain’t exactly a dog lover.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“Or uh, a lover at all.” great, vague hints, that's fun.</span><span><br/></span> <span>Teresa gave Clint a look, no shit was the prick her brother is after not is necessarily good, no one they assigned to him ever was, however what type of monster kills a fucking dog? </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Why the hell is this guy on your guys radar though?” Peter quickly skimmed the file, not seeing anything out of the ordinary just yet. This seemed to be too grounded to be any of shields business. Just death, death, and some more death by the looks of it. “Seems like some run of the mill nut to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clint hummed, his eyes sharply on the thick file. Staying eerily silent. “Skip to the last few pictures.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other two looked at him with honest skepticism, but Peter did as told, skipping to the last remaining photos in the large folder. The images made Teresa grimace, the blood around the oversized torso anything but pretty. But still, nothing new or special, except-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He decapitated him.” Clint explained, his voice stern, causing the parker siblings to feel a chill down both of their spines. “It took us a while but, we learned mister headless right there was Fisk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter didn’t say anything at first, his eyes simply wide, as if waiting for the just kidding from the archer. It never came though, instead there was just this long and stretched out lull in the apartment, where the only thing heard was the electricity humming from the lights and air conditioning, which Peter couldn’t feel as though they too were in on this five month long prank. There was no way that no name could’ve done that, he knows people who have tried, he knows people who failed within an inch of their life, and those who failed and only have a headstone to show for it. There was no fucking way that in just five months, whoever this guy was, beheaded the king of New York. Teresa too, knew the people who tried taking that old man's life, but no one succeeded. Well, not until now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See I vouched for you, Peter.” Clint explained, smiling a bit pridefully. “I made it so it was as if you were on some photography business trip and-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“-I gotta take down this no name? Gee Hawks, thanks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me finish Parker, all you gotta do is find out who he is.” Clint said, reasonably sounding a bit annoyed at the sarcastic comment. Yet, he didn’t say much else, practically impossible to read, as if he wanted the two to figure it out themselves or...he actually knew as much as they knew about this scumbag. Teresa was betting that it was a bit of both, Clint had a reputation at shield, so they tended to keep some things extra tight when it was related to him</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it.” Clint agrees, smiling in pride.</span>
</p>
<p><span>“Huh.” Teresa comments. “That isn’t as bad as I thought.” that was actually...pretty easy. Maybe she was wrong about the archer after all. Maybe he was smarter than he let on. Dare she say, he has five braincells bopping around in that head of his? “Thanks.” </span><span><br/></span> <span>“Aw it's no problem-” Clint unfortunately is cut off before he could come up with some terrible pet name to give the eldest Parker sibling.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“No seriously, thank you.” Teresa said, warmly smiling at him. “We appreciate it.” While she thought Clint was smelly, grody, slimey, sweaty and sorta greasy, she did have her hands tied due to her reputation as well. As they knew how much Peter meant to her, AKA, a weak point they could exploit. She expected it but still, not fun having to bargain for the easiest sounding case while your brother is somewhere she couldn’t reach. So, in times like this, it was good to have a pizza addicted landlord in your back pocket, even if he had terrible opinions on sitcoms. Well, he had terrible opinions in general but still, worth it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Clint said “of course.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, the landlord saw himself out, with bag and all, wishing the Parker’s good luck. Leaving them in silence for a minute or two, as they both stared down at the barely open file. Before Teresa decided to close it once more, saying her brother can worry about it some other day. After all, he just came back from an entire world that wasn’t even his. Then she recommended he take the week off to himself, take care of his cat, Peter Soap Parker and catch up a little. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Not Ready</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I get it.” Teresa hummed.<br/>	“Thanks-”<br/>	“You have an hour,” she said, glancing at her phone, knowing that it wouldn’t be too bad  “That should be enough prep time.” <br/>	“No, Terese, did you just hear what I said?” Peter said, impulsively grabbing his sister's arm. “No MJ. not here, not right now.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Are you leaving?” B asked, as his sister stood by his door, almost impatiently waiting for the conversation to end before it even started. Her leg bouncing in temptation to just book it back to her car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah,” She chuckles, pulling her white turtleneck, as if that made her weary stature any less suspicious to her brother. “just running some errands-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Must be some important errands.” Peter states, squinting at his sister, making her sweat more, hoping that his poor vision would give her a pass to just, walk out now. She knew her brother though, he was analyzing, making hypotheses and then was gonna prod for evidence. Come on Pete, just let her go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh yeah, they’re really important.” Teresa cringes at her own wording, knowing that if she was still in shield training, they would eat her up for almost everything she was doing. She couldn’t help it though! This was her little brother! It was impossible to lie to him, even if he smelled like he took a bath in three different dumpsters each day and then dried himself off with teenage jocks who never heard what deodorant was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Important enough to leave me here?” Peter’s wording being a tad bit guilt trippy, but definitely not an accident. Come on Terese, who is the shield agent here? The smelly hobo or you?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep.” Teresa squeaks, “I’ll be back though.” now is your chance, come on, just turn the knob and go! You can do this, you’re a shield agent-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re gonna go pick up MJ, aren’t you?” her brother interrupted, looking at her with an eyebrow raised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teresa’s grip on the knob loosened a little at the sudden accusation. “What? No, of course not.” her laughter at that anything but real, anything but honest, and anything but natural. Shit, was it that obvious? How the hell did he figure that out? She knows her brother is a brain monster but, she has to be honest, he was also an airhead simultaneously. It amazed her to this day if she was being truthful.</span>
</p>
<p><span>Peter squinted again at that, “Terese, come on.” Before he proceeded to elaborate even more, he patted the furniture around for his glasses, damn, when was the last time she saw him in those Uncle Bens specs? Her memory was too foggy to recall, must have been too long then. “Where the hell else would you go? You did say she was the only one who knows about this.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>She sighed, “Fine,” she begins. “She made me promise to call her when we found you.” That, for once was the truth. Ever since the beginning, it was as if MJ herself had some sense of her own, or maybe she just outweighed the situation and how it would go down more than Teresa did, because for some reason she just had this hunch that she wouldn’t be the lucky girl in this situation, if anything, she got the feeling that even when her tiger got back, she’d still be millions of universes away from him. So of course, Teresa swore on it.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s head stared at the ceiling, groaning. “And you agreed?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s your wife,” Teresa puts bluntly, thinking about the worry in her eyes every time they’d go out at night searching for him. “Of course I did-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ex-wife.” he corrected quickly and bluntly. As if that was better. “Ex-wife.” he reiterates for some unknown reason to her, as if it was some self punishment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, sorry.”  the elder sibling apologized, “I forgot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>B rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Look, I don’t want her to see me like this, not right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teresa gave her little brother a puzzled expression, almost tensing at the odd confession of his. Peter loved MJ, more than the world, more than any man has loved anything. More than davinci loved painting, more than beethoven loved the piano. More than- oh well, you got the point. So to hear the word that he wasn’t ready to see her didn’t exactly match the reaction she was expecting. So she gave him another look, from his feet to his head. He looked like literal shit. And by literal shit she means literal fucking shit, ugh, she should have made him shower before Clint came by, but it’s fine. She's worked worse. Like seriously, way fucking worse. You think he looked bad now? You should’ve seen the guy when he was still in college. That Peter made this one look like a fucking cake walk. </span>
</p>
<p><span>“I get it.” Teresa hummed.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Thanks-”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“You have an hour,” she said, glancing at her phone, knowing that it wouldn’t be too bad  “That should be enough prep time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Terese, did you just hear what I said?” Peter said, impulsively grabbing his sister's arm. “No MJ. not here, not right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, she still wasn’t exactly wrapping her head around what her brother meant, “What, do you need two hours or something?” she asks, almost sarcastically, as she had no intent to deny MJ the right to see him. Teresa was many things, but a monster was not one of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about not today?” Peter’s tone grew more soft, his posture even, shrinking, unable to make eye contact now. What the hell was up with him all of a sudden? Why wouldn’t he want to see her? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter bit his lip, still staring at his knobbly knees. “Because.” he mumbles, quietly fumbling with his hands. “It’s...hard?” it seems as though it’s hard for him to actually know the reason, or maybe it’s something else? “I’m...still not ready?” he shakes his head, as if still searching for what he is trying to say. “I don’t want her to...see this.” he gestures at himself, in a ragged, smelly and more than mildly stained spider suit and hair that stuck up in at least four different places.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teresa opened her mouth to comment, ready to lecture about how MJ couldn’t give a shit if he was half horse when they met, but then Peter finally looked at her in the eye. This familiar look in his eye. There she saw it, right in his eyes, it was Benji. Those vulnerable and desperate eyes, she knew that he was still there. Though she forgot how weak she was to them, god dammit Benji. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” she admitted in defeat, pulling away her arm. “But you only have a week.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter didn’t say anything for a while. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Benjamin.” Teresa said, voice risen to snap him out of his trance. “Did you hear me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know I hate it when you call me that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled, “And you know that isn’t going to stop me from calling you that.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Playing detective</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You know what that means, right?”<br/>	Peter shook his head, ever the wise one. Making his poor sister sigh once more, “This means you need a new suit.”<br/>	“What?” the arachnid gawked and chuckled at that. “Teresa, I’m fine.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The rest of the day it was almost as though nothing had changed, like Uncle Ben was still alive, like aunt may was still scolding them for doing nothing but watching He-Man all day while she cooked. If you just looked past Benji’s crows feet, Teresa’s laugh lines, the fact that Peters apartment cost more than their childhood home, or the fact that her brother was barely paying attention, seemingly busying himself on his laptop. If you ignored all those little things, if you ignored all the painful moments, the burial of both parents, and everything else, you would realize that nothing has changed. They can still have moments like this. But they only last one second, or maybe three if you’re lucky. Both cherished it though, for it's the closest to normal they ever seemed to get these days. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More time passed, binge watching Boy Meets World, Transformers, whatever else they seemed to favor in their youth, after a certain point you lose count. And possibly consciousness in Teresa’s case. She didn’t know how it happened, she was a trained and fully skilled Shield Agent, she was built to withstand long nights and still be sharp as ever. She ate well, drank water and was overall physically sound but maybe deep down her weakness is season three off Full House. Who knows, it didn’t change the fact that she passed out at nine and was awakened at three via Benji and his mumbling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Benji…?” she yawned, squinting as the bright light and the gremlin near it, still getting her eyes to get used to her surroundings. “Why are you up?”</span>
</p>
<p><span>Her brother didn’t respond, and instead continued his mumbling. Odd.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Benji hey,” she spoke, eyebrows furrowing. Still though, no response, leading her to tug on his arm like a whiny toddler. “Benjiiiiiiiiii.” she cried.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, the guy snapped out of his daze. “I heard you the first time,” he reassured. “Just was uh-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teresa put a weak and tired finger on his lips. “Shush, go to...sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Benji’s eyes shift from side to side, “I can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no response, very suspicious, making his sisters trance dissolve almost immediately. Her soft voice from before turning into the interrogator voice she put on during work hours. “Peter, why not?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise you won’t get mad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abruptly, she grabbed the laptop screen, sliding it into her direction. The bright light thankfully not as blinding to stare directly in, giving Teresa a good idea of the type of mess his desktop was in. she always knew her brother was a hoarder when it came to chrome tabs but Jesus Peter, this was my strange addiction worthy. For each tab was about Miles Morales, Detective Morales from Precinct 88, quantum travel and the one thing she really, really wished she at least had another twenty four hours to mentally prepare herself for before dropping the bombshell equivalent news to her brother. The kid, the kid that has been thankfully getting all the attention in New York while Spider-Man has been AFK. Or at least SHIELD and her think it's a kid, it could be a short young adult, who knows. All she knows is that with recent news of her more than just depressed brother meeting a similar type of kid, that this probably won’t end well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s another spider out there, Terese.” Peter said, his face ever so serious and sure, despite wearing those goofy glasses Uncle Ben used to wear when reading the daily newspaper. “That’s got to be Miles, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teresa gave him a worrisome look, feeling an odd type of deja vu from this. “Peter I know what you’re doing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What am I doing, Terese? I’m just-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re playing detective again.” she admits bluntly, arms crossing at him, not at all amused with his google searches. Thinking back about the state of his college dorm was back then when he did this. No matter how hard she tries, she can never get the mental images of her brother's bloodshot eyes and crazy cork board projects out of her head. Not to mention that ironically, he never got the freshman fifteen but instead lost weight. Often forgetting to eat, the only feeding he did was information on his crime related theories. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>”You did this shit all the time in college and-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was in college, Terese.” Peter snaps, refusing to acknowledge everything he did back then. “Besides, it wasn’t even that bad.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, when you had no fuckin’ idea you had ADHD, combined version,” Unlike her brother, who did his fucking best to beat the bush around the truth, Teresa would always say it outloud, for she never saw why it was a thing to be ashamed of, it’s not like he went out of his way to have something like ADHD, it was a common disorder. “So you were constantly off the damn shits with your theories and this and that-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aht, aht aht,” he interrupted. “I’m on meds, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teresa raised an eyebrow at him, “And how long ago did you take them?”</span>
</p>
<p><span>Peters pupils, travelled around the room, scratching his head, trying to reminisce.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Exactly.” she glared back at the laptop once more, her heartbeat speeding up even more, shit, she didn’t even think about his meds, how long would it take for them to get here? Better yet, how long would it take for Teresa to get him to take them? “Peter this is-”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Important.” he claims, gripping the screen back to his direction swiftly and with fury. “Miles is out there, and he needs me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you can prove that to me later, but-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You saw the proof, Terese.” his jaw clenching, as well as other parts of his body. Ah, there it is, the Parker temper, bestowed on from offspring to offspring, never once skipping a generation. If you asked Teresa though, it was all bullshit, and she chalked up that little family myth to the genetic Depression, Anxiety and ADHD that ran in the family. “There is another spider out there and-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know there is, trust me Peter, I know,” she then gives her brother a look of valid skepticism. “ But how can you be so sure it’s Miles?” Teresa loved her brother, trusted him with all her heart, but she has heard about the copycat months before her brother did. Sure, it wasn’t her case but being a Parker of course had it’s perks in learning a bit extra for free. Still though, even she only knew the basics, the places he frequented, even his favorite food and ever growing listed skills. No one, and she means no one, not even Coulson, Maria, or Fury knew the face behind that skateboarding, street dancing, burger munching vigilante though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t believe me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know that isn't true.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter groaned, noticing the emotion in his tired elder sister's eyes. “Fine.” he takes a breath, as if preparing himself to be gutpunched. “It's a gut feeling.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A gut feeling?” Teresa asked, her eyebrow raising and eyes narrowing. “Explain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just-” his focus was now no longer on his laptop searching, his eyes staring down at his hands as if those sweaty bulky things held the answer, before looking up back at her. “You just know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The eldest Parker knew that gesture, flashbacking to sophomore year where he did the same thing when warning her about the lead in the school's play, which she ignored only to realize he was making out with Ophelia on opening night. Or when he told her not to take the train, and later learned the train back home was hijacked by Red Skull. Or all the other times her ass barely escaped some sort of danger thanks to her trusty sticky brother. “Like, spider sense?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” he grinned widely, as a way to celebrate her small accomplishment. “Exactly, exactly” He knew Teresa was a smart egg but still, there was no way if he told someone like Betty that they would ever understand. “So I was thinking maybe he's related to-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter,” Teresa began, ignoring her sudden rise in body heat, slumping into the sofa a tad bit more, chuckling at bit as if that’ll calm her. “ No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have other issues right now, you can find the kid later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you need your meds.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teresa sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, feeling the grey hairs multiply by the second. Oddly, this reminded her of all the times she witnessed her aunt do a similar thing when up against a stubborn Parker. Sure, she was six feet under but still one hell of a lady you could pick up a thing or two from her. For example, she knew there was no use in a yelling match, in fact, she rarely raised her voice, even when learning her beloved nephew was a vigilante, or when Teresa crashed the family's car in junior year. Matter of fact, Teresa wasn’t exactly sure she heard her yell at Ben either. It was always a deep breath, mumbling, and the eerie tone that put anyone in their place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you...mumbling?” Peter’s eyebrow raises, unsure of what his sister was pulling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Fine?” he still wasn’t following. “Fine what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can look for the kid.” She began, her posture stiff, and eyes frigid. She didn’t even wait for his following comment, still pondering the requirements behind this bargain. “But before you need to find the guy SHIELD wants you to track down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her brother's head tilted, making a low noise as he thought about it. Weighing the pros and the cons, the possible loopholes around it, and the possibility Miles knew more about this guy more than the Parkers could even fathom. All and all, should be a piece of cake, right? “Deal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hum of air conditioning was the only thing that could be heard, and then as more seconds passed, so did the symphony of cars travelling up and down the street, the stray cats fighting two blocks away. Those highschool kids that always used their new spray cans on the cop cars, giggling as they ran off like the children they still were. Hell, even the terrible shower singing of Clint was loud enough to speak for the two. Yet, it was still awkward as all her. Mostly because both kept their focus on each other. Teresa’s face was a bit puffy, as if holding in something that desperately wanted to escape, and her brother's face, awaiting the scrabble of words soon he expected to be thrusted upon him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what that means, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter shook his head, ever the wise one. Making his poor sister sigh once more, “This means you need a new suit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” the arachnid gawked and chuckled at that. “Teresa, I’m fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You already agreed.” Teresa said, her teeth baring, her eyebrows furrowing in extremity. Her eyes dim, without any light seeping into them. The band of noises now turning into a song of goosebumps and chills on Peter's spine. A type of song to make a child sob, a type of song that would make any annoying customer regret ever being born, a type of song that made the super strengthened man feel like another note would strike him dead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A new suit, huh?” he stutters, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I think I know a guy.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Atoms Malfunctioning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I just want to help you.”<br/>“Teresa.” Peter mutters, his voice low and barely audible. “Shut up.”<br/>The elder sibling extends her neck to him, making sure she heard him right. “Excuse me?”<br/>“I said shut up.” he repeated, obviously talking through his teeth, as if she were some PTA mom threatening her nine year old son to behave.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tada! i have finally updated! I hope y'all enjoy! also expect more! I'm off school so hopefully I'll update more often!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The subway rattled, shaking the dozen Brooklynites and others that were drowning in their puffy coats and even puffier pants and other articles of clothing. Yet no one in the hundred all jam packed into the subway caused a fit, simply muttering to themselves about old wiring and construction needed. For them, they figure it's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to write home about. A little shake doesn’t scare them, and hell, for Peter it wouldn’t either. Thing is though, it wasn’t just a shake, not to Peter at least. For him it was a buzz. Okay well, buzz was one hell of an understatement, but that's how it always started out. This- this sinking pit feeling, like one you get after eating something you’re only mildly allergic to, and then it turns into the speeding of the heart, pumping and pumping, preparing itself for something, something near. From there, it’s hair sticking on end, it’s the texture of your clothing backstabbing you, and making you want to run out of the subway nude and free. That was spider sense, or at least, that’s what Teresa gathered from twenty years of this shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily twenty years was more than plenty of time to learn to deal with tight situations like this, just hum, just hold your sisters hand, and breathe, it’ll be alright. Everything will be alright. Peter wanted to believe that he desperately wanted to relax in his sister's claims, nonetheless though, he just sat there, muttering to himself, but not agreeing, making Teresa grimace a little. Once again, reminded of May, and weirdly now understanding that face she would make whenever the two would willingly lie to her face to protect her from the truth. The far off feeling of a loved one, was this really spider sense? Or was it...something else? Maybe a memory he would rather forget, maybe it's the bittersweetness of being back home, maybe it was MJ, maybe-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did Turk ever text you back?” Teresa finally mustered, glancing at her brother, his posture every so slouchy, tired and definitely the primary reason for his back pain, still gripping to Teresa’s right hand as she rummaged in her pocket for her phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, no, he didn’t.” he turns the screen towards her brother, who was beginning to regret leaving his glasses at the apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh.” Teresa's face scrunched up as the subway finally halted in place at the station. The first few dozen of people exiting through the doors, the murmuring of kids and adults alike chatting amounts to themselves about plans and whatnot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess it’ll be a surprise visi-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it hit him. Like a needle in a haystack, he knew exactly what was causing his suffering, the only thing now was to catch it. So without a heads up at the least, Peter was off, weaving through the crowd of cold and bitter locals, keeping his eyes on the prize. Said prize being two boys, a couple or so feet in front of him yet still so far that it hardly lifted the illness he felt within himself. That was Miles, Peter had no doubt about it, so of course, like any good mentor would, he ignored his sisters yells to slow down to not miss this perfect opportunity to join forces. Teresa yelled some more, however was beginning to lose him, only able to see his brown, barely brushed hair that stuck up in at least three different places. Said hair finally stopped though, addressing two other heads that weren’t nearly the same height of his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked young, and one even familiar. Teresa’s eyes squinted, getting a better look at the two boys, which were now desperate to find an excuse to stop talking to the creepy middle aged man, one visibly hiding behind the other. Said one being- being- She gasped. “Miles.” She no longer wasted any more time, shoving and forcing her way to where the three stood, the sound of the rain from outside beginning to slowly protrude around the tired shield agent.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter.” Teresa firmly commands, before motioning with her hand for him to return to come to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Said man, only turned his head to her, looking visibly more colorful and well off than originally displaying from the subway, yet stayed put. Still continuing to flap his lips at the poor two, fine, you wanna play that? She can play that. So, of course, she got even closer, witnessing the older one, assumably a brother of Miles finally utter some words along “go away” or “we have to leave now, for when she got there all she could see and hear was the gripping of the poor older boys arm from her brother, and Peter yelling about how they have to believe him or whatnot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All she did though, all she did was put a firm grip on his shoulder and her brother fell like a house of cards, straight onto the cold, wet and definitely dirty ground that was the new york subway. His body spazzing out in inhumane ways, letting out noises that sounded more automatic than one of mammal ancestry, not to mention the amount of colors that shifted and changed around her brothers chest, hands, feet and almost any place he could think off, scaring the already intimidated boys away, leaving Teresa alone with her brother </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter?” Teresa’s eyes grew in size, her hands hesitant as if it was smart to touch him. “Peter are you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spasms halted, her brother falling limb, but breathing thankfully. And then, groans of annoyance, as if what just happened was as mundane as anything else. “Dammit.” He coughed, gripping his torso as he lifted himself up from the slightly damp concrete. “I figured that shit would end once I got my ass back home.” Peter dryly mutters, rummaging in his pockets for his metrocard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Teresa swiped her card, chasing close behind, her expression blank. “What the hell even was that?” her voice now being served at the depressed white man with a sprinkle of spice to it, ugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter rolls his eyes, but doesn’t slow his pace for her, his soggy sneakers sloshing in small puddles as he advances to the Usual place, almost hopelessly trying to speed up the pace of this. “It’s called glitching.” He doesn’t elaborate, he keeps walking, ignoring the droplets riding down his now droopy hair, “It’s just something to do with my atoms, don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teresa's face grows long, eyes wide. “Atoms?” her shocked tone making the younger sigh. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” her brother finally stopped in her tracks, the only noises now being the heavy rain, murmuring from a nearby alley, and of course cars, but sounded so far from the two she barely even registered they were there. “Peter, talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter this isn’t funny.” She crosses her arms to conserve some warmth. He didn’t bother to turn just yet though. “We need to communicate.” still, no words, not even a movement of his gangly body. “I just want to help you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Teresa.” Peter mutters, his voice low and barely audible. “Shut up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elder sibling extends her neck to him, making sure she heard him right. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said shut up.” he repeated, obviously talking through his teeth, as if she were some PTA mom threatening her nine year old son to behave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Teresa could ask who the hell Peter thought he was, his sweaty and scratchy hands covered her mouth, crouching behind the corner, his grip on her poor mouth ever so tight, his other finger pressed to his lips, as if the hand was not enough. She didn’t really understand what all the fuss was about, it was just supposed to be Turk and some of his guys, right? That didn’t seem like anything to write home about. Still though, something was still itching at her brother's spine, it was as if he could smell it, even in the rain. Though minutes still passed, and there was nothing, no electro, no lizard, no rhino either. So what the hell-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An ear piercing bullet flew from down the heavens into Turks forehead, leaving him lying in his own blood. His life, instantly ending without a warning. Without a heads up from the big guy upstairs, or...anything really. He woke without a damn second thought if it would be his last, and all Peter and Teresa did was wait. Wait for those church bells to ring. To be fair, it's not like the famed Spider-man was omnipresent, that was for damn certain, but Teresa knew that even if he believed that, it still wouldn’t stop him from fighting the tears a bit as he talked to the cops about what happened.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Mind Reader</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I always noticed how whenever someone dies, they always tell the hero the same damn thing, ever since I was a kid, I always wondered how much that would wear away a person....and then Peter B Parker came along.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Peter barely touched his coffee, he simply just stirred and stirred and stirred and stirred until the mug was as cold as he felt. Teresa though, could only sit there, feeling anything but close to her brother. While she hated to admit it, both her and Peter had that in common. They were terrible at comforting, affection, socializing, and uh, well the whole people thing in general if she was being honest. She always figured it was to make up for their other skills that were anything but lacking. I mean, they were anything but c average students in highschool, and she wasn’t a usual braggart but both weren’t that bad looking either, even if Peter looked like a personification of a subway rat and most definitely smelled like one too. Still though, this rat was related to her, grew up beside her, whether she liked it or not, this rodent was hers. So the least thing she could do was make the small mammal smile a little. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” She pokes her brother's limp and gangly finger, catching his attention as his droopy, self pitying brown eyes that slowly made their way to meet her royal blue ones. “It’s not-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t.” Peter commands, his face still smushed on the table, not bothering to move his head even a smidge. “I already know what you’re gonna say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Teresa’s eyebrows furrowed. “Can spider-man read minds now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter wheezes at that, “Uh, pretty sure I’d still be married if I could.” his amused grin falling immediately after his sisters sighs at that terrible jab at his life that was hanging by a greasy, dirty, and very much thin thread. He exhales, “But everyone says it, Terese. So many times that I lost count after uh,” he snaps his fingers, finally lifting his head so he could think more clearly. “The Stacys.” Though it sounded like he wasn’t exactly sure with that claim either. “Everyones like ‘Oh Pete, it isn’t your fault, you can’t save them all.’ As if I don’t know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shield agent’s lips creased downwards. “I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m gonna stop you right there again.” the man said, running his hand through his greying hair, although his posture has improved and he was finally talking, even grabbing his cup of coffee! They both knew, he wasn’t happy, and while he appreciates the attempt, Teresa can’t fix that. Yet...he was okay with that, he made peace with that ugly truth. “Lets just…” Peter made a vague and hard to read gesture with his hands, as if some failing mime who is bullshitting their new piece to the class. “Not talk about it…?” his head tilting at her, eyebrows raised and smile sharp but far from genuine, as if waiting for feedback for this terrible performance in anticipation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His stiff positioning finally fell as she couldn’t help but giggle at her brother, “Sure.” if that was gonna make her brother finally look less like a personification of a sad puddle on the sidewalk then she’ll do it. “We still need a new suit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man groaned, running his hand down his face every so dramatically, “We do not.” he argues, “We never needed one in the first place.” He rests his head on his head, shooting a cocky look at her, “My design is perfectly fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The eldest daughter looked anything but amused. “I never said your design was the problem, even though it most definitely is, a problem.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“Woah.” Peter raised an eyebrow at that. “Are you kidding me? It’s a classic.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“We’re getting off topic now.” She chuckled, “It’s just...dated is all.” she starts vague, hoping to god she isn’t poking a soft spot with him, knowing full on and well how much the suit meant to him, even if it looked like some terrible off brand walmart bought pajamas. “And well, I saw the pictures, sweatpants are a no go.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Peter clutched his chest, presumably where he assumed where his heart was, as if that thing couldn’t handle facts. Which apparently it couldn’t, because he just sat there stunned, wide eyed as if he looked into Medusa's eyes while simultaneously realizing the person he was making eye contact was in fact, Medusa. It was quite humorous, to see the great spider-man get slapped with the backside of a metaphorical hand, hilarious even. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shield agent then opened her mouth once more, no longer waiting for the stunted subway rat to respond, unfortunately though, something entered her ear drums, making her brain feel as though it was being pressed against a cheese grater, she had no idea who on god's green earth made her cringe that badly but she knew one thing, it had to be someone who still thinks it's acceptable to whistle at a woman in public. Someone with less brain cells then Clint Barton, someone with the IQ score of a negative number, someone like-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Johnny Storm.” Teresa deadpanned, not even turning her lovely head to greet him or even raised her voice an octave higher, no, she made it excruciating clear she would rather die than have to look at his terrible face. But she wasn’t exactly expecting him to take the hint, she knew how dumb he had to be if he somehow found her brothers suit sexy and attractive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blonde leaned in onto the table, making poor Teresa have to be in his shadow, prompting her to scoot away in disgust, but her attempt backfired, as he invited himself into the booth. “So you know me?” he smiles, not like she could see it though, but that's fine, ol’ Storm liked the chase. Practically lived for it if he were being honest. “Do I know you from somewhere? I’m sure I have seen your beautiful face somewhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman huffed, crossing her arms, “Oh yeah you sure have.” she begins dryly, staring at the window, eyes sharp and determined to remain on said window. “While you were bangin’ my little brother.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Johnny laughed at that, obviously not paying attention. “I knew it…” his eyes then widened, as if punched in the gut. “I’m sorry,” he chuckled nervously, “While I was what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You heard me.” Teresa stated, smirking like she just won some sort of weird contest, gesturing her thumb that she released from her strict crossing to the man across from Johnny, who sipped his coffee with those dead, fish eyes of him, lifting his free hand to give a weak and lazy wave to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Spence.” Peter doesn’t even smile at him, he just, sits there, like a zombie, no wait, like a regular corpse. “You done flirting with my sister?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Johnathan’s face grew a bit pink, gripping his own iced coffee with utmost strength, bouncing his leg a little while he stalled for time. To think of anything, anything to get him out of this hole with the last bit of dignity he had left in his dumb, blonde body. “Yeah, yeah, all done.” he mutters, taking a shaky breath as he sat there in silence, glaring at his past lover with full and intense attention. Wait a second, did his eyes...dilate just then? That better be platonic dilation, she had nothing against Johnny but, last thing her rat brother needs is a blonde in his imessages and all that entailed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You feeling alright, Jonathan?” Terese jabbed him with her elbow, instantly making the other man flinch in reaction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” said the man, grinned at her as if his life depended on it, gripping at the table as if ready to book it and leave for good. Jesus, are gay men a flair for the dramatic. “Would love to uh, catch up, shutterb- er I mean- Petey, Pete, PETER.” and like the wind, he arose from his seat from the booth, but barely even made it two feet away from the Parkers when Peter gripped his hand, tightly, warmly, desperately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You mind doing me a favor?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Red Bullets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The spider did not like that answer, not one bit. “Terese, come on, my hands are tied here.” <br/>Teresa was well aware of that, but she was also well aware of how much New York needed him, and not Shield. “So are mine.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Reed said it would take a few weeks. Teresa was more than fine with that, she could do that. She didn’t mind waiting, after all, they had better things to worry about than just a suit. And by them, she mostly meant her brother. She had her own life after all, her brother was old enough to handle himself, to schedule sessions with his therapist, call the pharmacy and she wasn’t exactly getting paid by the hour by hanging out with him, and neither was he, he had his own job to get back to after all. Both figured that it was just a one time thing, Peter would get his name cleared and get the name of the guy he owned to Shield and return to his spidey ways, no biggie, nothing new. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until Teresa gets a call, a loud and incomprehensible call to come to her brother's apartment, which she does, assuming she's dying or the Mets won some trophy or a mix of both. She then realized that her assumptions aren’t exactly as accurate as hypothesized, mostly because the tv was on the news channel and Peter wasn’t unconsciously bleeding out on the floor either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank god.” he gasped, halting his pacing, and placing his sweaty and trembling hands onto her shoulders. His brows creased and eyes wide, as if he just ran here all the way from his offices at work. “You came!” he wrapped his bulky arms around her tight as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah.” she tears away her brother's hug after it became suffocating, hanging her bag on the coat hanger. “You sounded like you were dying so.” she looks at Peter up and down, not seeing a single mark on him. Well, that was a lie, she saw all his scars that leaked out of the confines of his shirt sleeves and neck hole. “I came as soon as I could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter chuckled, “Dying…” he heaved, still trying and failing miserably to calm himself down. “You’re not too far off.” he let out a dry huff of laughter once more, before shooting a web to grab the remote that was all the way on the other side of the apartment, rewinding furiously, not giving his sister even a hint of what this was actually about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You called me...to show me the news?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter still remained silent, even when he finally stopped his aggressive rewinding as soon as he saw the face of his boss and city-wide known spider hater yelling on live television. Even that, though, didn’t faze the eldest, so of course, she gave her brother a death glare, tapping her foot, waiting for the punchline. None came, as it wasn’t a joke, have a little faith in your little brother Teresa, he knows what he’s doing. He finally pushed the volume button on his remote, the gruff and low voice now echoing through the small apartment, revealing that instead of the sticky menace that usually made his heart rate speed up, it was instead something else entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>See, after Turk bit the dust, the parkers assumed it was just karma, they were both well aware that Turk was no angel and had definitely made some enemies despite being mostly reformed. Nothing new, both have known those who eventually met their maker, it was unfair, sure but still, just the way the game is played. Neither thought any fowl play was happening, that is, until good ol’ Karen Page had something to say about it, tying the murder to similar ones that had occured in the past five months. The same type of ammo, from the same type of gun, from the same amount of distance, and the same spot from the back of the head, and around the same time. The victims, even were a trend of their own, like someone was washing New York's crime world with blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except the trend of victims soon changed, shifting to just, people around hell’s kitchen, people who had no criminal record, people old and young, it just wasn’t making any sense, and like always, the police barely reported on these murders, if at all, so back to Karen Page and Eddie Brock did it go. Although there wasn’t much Peter could do, with his suit still a work in progress and all, he kept a tab on it, getting evidence on it from colleagues at work, still not convinced this was anything different from usual Spider-man stakes. That was, until Betty was actually able to get her hand on a stray bullet from an unrelated gang war, giving it to Peter as a sorta welcome back gift, well aware he was hoarding evidence for his own little thing. The bullet was nothing special at first except well, the coloring being a bright red. Still though, scratched and dented here and there, a bit on the expensive side but nothing really attention grabbing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until he saw the inscribed letterings on the butt of it. Two uppercase D’s. odd. Still though, Peter didn’t think too much about it. It was a single bullet for christ sake, must’ve been some eccentric ammo CEO or something equally ridiculous, again, nothing out of the ordinary. Until well, yesterday. Jameson was just enjoying a morning bagel with his nephew, as they chatted and joked in his office without a care in the world. Until he came out screaming like the fucking dickins, shaking a delivery box in his hand with utmost fury that made his face go beet red in color. Asking who exactly thought it was a funny joke to send him a bullet with the same type of color as his own face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently, it was a warning. A warning Jameson didn’t understand, leading to his nephew dead in a pool of his own blood on his front lawn, and if that wasn’t enough, he wasn’t the only one. Reminding Peter once again that the trend was changing, and more than enough people have already gotten hurt, and will continue to get hurt. Unless…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think you can call someone from Shield?” Peter finally asks, in all seriousness, knowing the possibility of a puzzled look being thrown at him. “You know I wouldn’t be asking unless I really needed it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teresa was speechless at all of this. “Peter I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you or can you not, Teresa?” Peter interrupts, with a tad of venom to his bite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a while, she just stared at him, with awe. That face, that stance, that...that wasn’t Peter, that wasn’t Benji either. That was spider-man. That was someone who Teresa thought died with Aunt May. That man that would do everything in his power to protect the innocent, that man that convinced her that killing was not worth it all those years ago. That man that Teresa was convinced withered away as Peter got more older, more tired, and more bitter. He was one of those people you don’t think mean a lot to you, until they’re standing in front of you, after years of radio silence. Their presence alone made Teresa’s eyes water, realizing she had been secretly missing him all this time. </span>
</p><p><span>“I didn’t know Miles meant that much to you.” she smiled, wiping her tears.</span><span><br/></span> <span>Spider-man gave her a look, not getting what the kid had to do with any of this. “Did you not listen to a word of what I said?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Oh I did.” she shook her head up and down gently, sniffling. She did more than just listen, she just cracked the case, she just found the key that was used to awaken the spider. Well, more like, the boy who awoke the hero Peter has desperately tried to bury within himself. Yet, somehow, that was enough, that small little boy Teresa wouldn’t have even known to exist did something she never could manage to do to her brother. Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, web-head, I love you, you know that,” she began, taking a large gulp of air as her chest began to feel heavy from the sobbing. “But I...can’t help you.” She lies. “Shield doesn’t handle this type of stuff, Peter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spider did not like that answer, not one bit. “Terese, come on, my hands are tied here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teresa was well aware of that, but she was also well aware of how much New York needed him, and not Shield. “So are mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Terese, please.” The vigilante once again begs, inching towards his sister, “Karen Page isn’t liked by the police, you know that, and whoever sent her that bullet knew that too. There has to be something you can do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A metaphorical lightbulb shined brightly above the agents head. “Actually, yeah, there is.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We're getting close to the end of this fic!! I'm so excited!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Bitlife</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Holy shit.” he finally managed to mutter, his beady black eyes looking down at his chest. <br/>Teresa grinned. “Yeah.” she gave it a look as well, squinting at the black accents. “Holy shit.”<br/>Peter chuckled. “Holy fucking shit.”<br/>Johnny smiled pridefully as if he made it, which he most definitely did not. “I take it you like it.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You know, when my sister said she knew a guy, I was thinking she meant some colleagues from her job.” Peter deadpanned, snuffing out his cigarette on his railing, not at all amused as he stared into the human shaped floating star. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teresa fought the urge to also snuff out her cigarette on her brother's face for that statement. “He didn’t have to come you know.” she adds, not exactly defending the blonde for his sake but instead for her own sake. She didn’t see him coming up with any man power of his own. “I mean, did you even call W-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t” her brother blurted out defensively, putting a finger over her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teresa stepped back a little, not even paying mind to the blonde behind her, her eyebrows furrowed. “What the hell, since when do you not invite that asshole?” she crossed her arms, waiting for the answer, it didn’t make sense, those two were so close, amazingly close, like two peas in a- “Ohhh.” The memories of her catching the out of context imessages of Wade sending her brother heart emojis, the calls late at night that ended with “I love you’s” the one time she walked into Peter's apartment to see them both in boxers, and how the blonde was right behind him. Yeah, maybe it was smart that he didn’t invite him to the party. “Good call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In hopes of clearing the air, Teresa whipped her head to Storm, her ponytail grazing his face and making him cringe a little. Her eyes were usually blue, but as she stood there, staring up at him in the night sky, Johnny swore they were purple. “Did you bring it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Johnny continued staring, lord only knows what the hell was going through his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter played with his lighter, lighting another cigarette, now also glaring at him. “Johnathan.” he mumbled, cig now in his mouth, as he exhaled after that statement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” his eyes then grew a couple of sizes larger. “Of course I did!” the hot head exclaimed, as if it was wrong to doubt him otherwise despite his terribly known reputation of forgetting things all the damn time. Quickly tossing a thin, black box to his past lover without warning, knowing he’ll catch it, which he barely did, thank god for sticky hands though. The box then dissolved into tentacles of red and blue fabrics, wrapping themselves neatly around his legs, arms, hips, and finally to the shoulders, neck and face. It happened so fast that the spider just stood there, wide eyed and sorta trembling, his cigarette now wasting on the floor, not like that was the height of his worries though. He was busying himself with doing the classic staring at his hands trick, his fingers moving ever so slowly as if he wasn’t exactly sure that said fingers were also his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit.” he finally managed to mutter, his beady black eyes looking down at his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teresa grinned. “Yeah.” she gave it a look as well, squinting at the black accents. “Holy shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter chuckled. “Holy fucking shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Johnny smiled pridefully as if he made it, which he most definitely did not. “I take it you like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter remained silent, still glaring at his hand, trying to imagine the type of threading and material Reed mustive used, it didn’t feel like a spandex to him, it felt thicker, rough, thick. Nonetheless though, he could breath, he could kick, punch and do whatever was necessary without having to worry about ripping something to do so. “Yeah.” he mumbled, his black, reflective eyes staring back to the two. “Tell Reed I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Save it, Pete.” Johnny shushed, attempting to place a finger on the spider's assumed mouth hole, only for it to be quickly smacked away by said spider. “We got a gal to protect.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Teresa hopped onto her brothers back, gripping tightly as they began soaring through the large buildings of the city. At first, like any civilillian, Teresa was well, terrified of her brother's way of travel. Hell, she doesn’t know a person in her universe who wasn’t at least a touch scared. Not to mention that highschool Peter knew little to nothing about how to correctly hold a body without dropping it to its death. And then you grow a bit older, and get ballsy, screaming and cheering as the wind runs through your hair. That doesn’t last too long either though, now it was just, mundane. Swiping in opposite directions on Tinder as Peter and Johnny caught up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And finally, the whooshing sound of wind and the constant harmonious noises of horns and curses from down below, halted. Peter’s hands gripping on the brick walls, and Teresa? Playing bitlife, unbothered, even when the two boys knocked desperately on the window in the dimly lit room. It wasn’t until she was finally let off Pete’s back did her brain remind her why she was there in the first place. Mostly because the expression of fear Karen Page wore on her face was uncanny and most of all, unlike her. She was no rookie, she was aware of how easily her life would be ended and yet, it rarely faltered her. She kept her head high, but as of now, as she told the three that within five months she has been the target of ominous letters this gnawing feeling that she isn’t entirely alone. In order to calm the reasonably jittery woman, Johnny went to scout the general area outside of the complex. Leaving two journalists and a shield agent alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The streets Johnny flew above were rather mundane, even dull at times, as there was no signal to him of any fowl play. It was just...normal. As normal as this city can get, anyways. Still though, the two Parkers meant business and he could respect that. So he asked around local shops that were still open, getting himself a popsicle while he was at it. Nonetheless the people were rather... prickly, vague and sometimes outright rude. Sure, he could have chalked it up to grumpy locals being grumpy locals, and he was about to, as well! Until he met this old, hatian lady who introduced her grandson, who claimed he may have seen something similar to what John was asking for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Name’s Judge.” the kid mumbled, his eyes tiresome, hands long and boney such as his stature. He looked to be around fourteen or fifthteen, as his high pitched voice would prove. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Johnny gave the kid a warm smile, “Johnny, nice to meet you sport.” he chirped, shaking the kids hand firmly. “Your gran said you have-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The child's sweaty hand was soon then planted on the blondes mouth as he pulled him into an empty alley nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is wrong with you, kid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, what is wrong with you? You’re the human torch, don’t you know anything about keeping your voice down?”</span>
</p><p><span>Touche. Johnny let the kid continue.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I didn’t exactly, see it, I just sorta...heard it.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Heard what?” Storm raised an eyebrow, blue eyes ever so focused on the young boy who was now sweating bullets down from his forehead. “What did you hear?”</span>
</p><p><span>Judge seemed to be getting more and more frightened as the seconds passed him by, “I-I-”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Kid, calm down.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“I-I can’t I- I have said too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Judge, it’s okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have been following me since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who? Who Judge? Who has been-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A piercing noise of a bullet leaving its gun and entering the young boy's head echoed into Johnny Storm's head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Johnny finished calling the paramedics, he called Peter, dialing his number as fast as he could, talking without remembering to breathe.</span>
</p><p><span>On the other line, was spider-man, in his new suit, already halfway to where the address Johnny sent was, racing closer and closer as fast as he could.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Johnny,” he gently murmured into the phone, holding his cracked screen so tight it made his hands blister a smidge. </span></p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” the other voice was panicked, bewildered and distracted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you see who shot the kid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you followed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p><span>“Are you sure?”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Of course I fucking am, Peter, what, do you think I-”</span><span><br/></span> <span>Silence.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Johns?”</span></p><p><span>More silence.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Johnny?”</span></p><p><span>No response.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Hello?” Peter continued to swing, he was getting closer, but each inch he crossed, would the buzzing in his head grow more and more intense. </span></p><p>
  <span>Something was wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blue and red police sirens were like light to a moth for the spider, finally landing on a rooftop, and below was the deceased child, crying grandmother, but no sign of the torch head. Before Peter could even begin to ask the officers if they saw where Storm was, another bullet exited from the gun so fast he could barely dodge in time. The bullet landing not too far away from the spider, prompting Peter to examine if it was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“GOD FUCKING DAMMIT.” Another bullet landing in his left calf, it was still hot. Yet it wasn’t...the same type of bullet. No, it was...long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was DD.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that realization, another bullet entered his shoulder, burning his skin and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And making him sleepy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Very sleepy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So sleepy he couldn’t stand straight, so sleepy he couldn’t even keep his eyes open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So sleepy the rooftop seemed like a perfect place to nap on.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Not interested</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Wow, so thats spider-man.” </p><p>“I didn’t think he was white.”</p><p>“Ha! Same here.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Wow, so thats spider-man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think he was white.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! Same here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it's a copycat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe, there already is that other one so…”</span>
</p><p><span>Finally, said white spider-man’s eyes opened. His body failing to escape the tightly bound rope, yelling and cursing at his captives who in one word to describe them were odd.</span><span><br/></span> <span>The red headed adult spoke first, backing away a little to avoid getting his pretty face smashed in. “Hey, hey, hey, relax buddy! Relax.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“I’m half naked and tied to a chair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The masked young man took a step forward, “We were cleaning your wounds, and had to tie you up so we could inject you with pain killers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Peter felt a bit stupid now. “I’m sorry, who the hell are you?”</span>
</p><p><span>“I’m BlindSpot.” the masked man responded.</span><span><br/></span> <span>“And I’m Mike!”</span></p><p>
  <span>The young man got even closer. “And you are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not interested.” B answered, rolling his eyes. “Look, thanks for the clean up but I’m not exactly a people person so I’ll just-” He groaned, trying to wriggle himself out. “-Get going now-” it was no use, so he gave up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah don’t bother, we made that to be practically impossible to break out of.” BlindSpot admitted proudly, crossing his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unbreakable rope. Cute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, we need to work together.” Mike softly added, “Whatever you have been doing for the last five months hasn’t been working, but maybe-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said I’m not interested, okay?” Peter's voice grew more aggressive this time, almost as though he was growling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if we said we know who took your friend, Johnny?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and thats a wrap! i will be posting the next part soon though!! so watch out for that!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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